Destiny at Dawn
They felt her presence long before she left her kingdom beneath the waves. It was as if someone, or rather, something was watching them. A being beyond comprehension and rational thought. They called her Mother, because she gave them no other name. People often believe that by naming something, the understanding of that thing will soon be within their grasp. They were so, so wrong.
There is a small town, isolated from the rest of the world and precariously placed upon a cliff overlooking a vast and turbulent ocean. The people of this town are simple folk; they farm for their food, raise their young, and once a month they pay their respects to the all-powerful Mother. The town prospers, and is safe. They know that this is because of their worship, but they’re also sure that the other things do help too. After-all, the payback from the continual worship of a terrible-yet-awesome being can only take you so far in life.
There is a young boy who lives in this town. Actually, there are many young boys who live in this little town but one of them holds a particular amount of importance. He is different to any other person you could ever meet and in this way, he was just like all the others. He was also chosen in the monthly draw to face the mother, in this way he is very much unlike all the others. In this little town, he knew his ‘fortune’ at being chosen made him the envy of his peers, but deep in his own mind, he was gripped by a stifling fear. People who go down to face the Mother don’t come back up the same person. At a first glance, you might guess that they’d been driven mad. The people of this little town know better. After centuries of encounters with this being, they’ve come to realise that those that return have not simply lost their ability to think clearly. The people say that their minds have been opened, their eyes have been opened, their ears have been opened. They can hear, see, feel the constant waves of communications constantly sent out by her from the briny blue.
This is not important, yet. What is important is the young boy. Of course, he has a name. They call him Markus. He had other names but they no longer matter. From the moment his name was called, he became Markus of Clarity. The ceremony was grand, as it always is, and filled with rich foods and strong drinks so that Markus’ head was swimming when he finally managed to break away. It was a clear night, and the waves could be heard crashing against the cliff. Markus of Clarity stood as close to the edge as he dared. He wondered if it was the moon was the one drawing the walls of water towards him, or if the Mother herself was causing turbulence beneath the surface, calling to him. Did he know he was there? It was a ridiculous question to ask, of course she did. What he should have asked is, ‘does she care enough to let me know?’ Only those with clarity could have answered that, could they speak at all.
Beneath the sound of crashing waves and howling wind, there was something else. Footsteps? He turned on his heel, careful of the deadly drop behind him, to see who had managed to seek him out. A smile broke out on his face. ‘Trust you to find me here.’
‘You aren’t exactly hard to find, Markus.’ Yasmin stepped out from the darkness holding a wooden bowl of cherries. ‘I brought snacks,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to comfort you, but I don’t know how,’ is what she meant.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I need your presence more than I can put into words’, is what he wanted to say.
‘You wanna sit on the edge and let our legs dangle over the edge.’ She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, gripping it gently. I don’t want you to go.
‘So that I might accidentally fall over the edge to my death? Sure.’ He grabbed a couple of the cherries and sat down beside her on the edge. I want my life to be better.
‘Let’s see who can spit the farthest.’ She leaned her head back and sent a pip flying into the darkness. Why can’t you just stay?
‘Okay, let’s see what you’ve got,’ He leaned back, but instead of spitting the pip out, it slid down his throat, sending him into a convulsive fit of coughing and laughing. It eventually came back, ungracefully dropping from his mouth and flying a few inches in front of him before falling into the sea. I’m so scared I can barely think.
‘I think I won that round. Maybe you could try not doing whatever nonsense that was.’ She sent another flying through the dark. I want to talk to you about this.
‘I guess I don’t have your natural talent. By the way, theses cherries are gross’ What if I remember you, but I can’t speak to you.
‘Yeah, this is the reject batch from farmer Talia’s harvest. Did you think I could afford fresh cherries?’ She threw a couple more into her mouth, then spat out the pips one by one. I don’t know how I can be around you when you come back, but I don’t want to lose you either.
They talked for hours into the night, talking without saying what they wanted to say. They met again the day after, and the day after, and the day after. Sometimes she brought sour fruit, and sometimes he brought badly baked cakes. ‘You still haven’t improved, I see.’ Each night was the same, talking but not really communicating. The Mother was there too, doing nothing but communicating, though no one could hear her.
The last night they stayed until the sun sent bright lines of yellow and white across the horizon. Yasmin had to go, she would be part of the sending off band and would need a few hours of sleep to ensure some level of competency. They hugged once more, now not saying anything at all. The ocean was roaring so loudly he couldn’t hear her footsteps at all.
Now it is the eighth hour of the morning and Markus still sits and waits for his fate. Five sets of soundless boots unintentionally creep up on him. He is startled when he hears that unmistakeable voice. Booming and commanding, it must be the mayor. ‘Excited are we?’ He claps him on the shoulder so hard he momentarily fears for his life.
‘I didn’t want to be late, sir.’ He tries out a smile, knowing that it would come out looking like a grimace. ‘I don’t want to… disappoint her?’ The mayor nods to himself, seemingly satisfied, and turns to his group.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he says ‘I shall leave you to perform your duties, I have a few of my own that need tending to. Good day, Markus of Clarity, what a fortunate young man you are.’ He leaves briskly, nodding to his associates as he goes. When he turns, a myriad of hand descend upon Markus. They pull at his clothes, his skin, his hair. He is brushed and patted and powdered. In red robes and a deep blue sash, Markus stands before him like a finished painting. They seem please with their work and tell him not to move. Markus turns and faces the ocean and hears the ‘associates’ walk away to make other preparations. He knows the Mother is there somewhere, and part of him thinks he can feel her presence. He shakes it off, knowing that once he returns, her presence is all that he will know.
A leathery hand distracts him from his musings. An old woman stands before him, she pulls him closer to her. ‘Do you know what to do?’ Her voice is raspy and strained.
‘Sort of, I’ve seen the ceremony before but-’
‘I shall explain it to you,’ she says, ignoring or not hearing him at all. ‘You must make your way down to the bottom of the cliff, you must stay there until nightfall, the Mother will show himself to you. When you see her you will change. The person who makes their way down will not emerge. These are your last moments young man, for now you may use them to reflect. You will be told when to make your way down.’
‘Yes ma’am.’ He isn’t even sure if she can hear him, but she nods and relinquishes her grip. He watches her slow and careful gait. Behind her, the crowd and the band were preparing to see her off. Amongst them, Yasmin stands and fiddles with the sheet music before her. Is she trying to find her place, or is she avoiding eye-contact? The whole town is there too. His family stand beaming, so proud that one of their own would be chosen for such an honoured position. Teachers, doctors, farmers, holy folk. They all watch him with eyes wide. Markus scans their eyes, but he can find no sympathy, no remorse. His eyes fall upon the old woman’s eyes, she nods and he understands that it’s time to go. He looks to Yasmin, but can’t catch her gaze. He turns to face the sea and behind him, the music starts. Yasmin’s flute whistles above the rest, it rings in his ears and around his head. As he takes his steps down the rocky path, he imagines it’s the only instrument there.
The walk down is not easy. Rocks slide from under his feet and the sea spray makes a constant assault upon his face. The ocean is eager to receive him. He makes his way down slowly, slowly, taking in each breath. At the end of the path there was a small ledge, just big enough for him to sit on. My last moments. The words swam around his head, mixing with the lingering flute melody that he could no longer her over the waves. There was nothing left to do now but sit, and think. Up above, he knew that the townsfolk would have begun their party. He could hear the faintest hints of their revelry and wondered what Yasmin would be doing. After all, she couldn’t leave, even those who are absent due to illness are spoken poorly of. He can’t decide whether he’d prefer her to enjoy herself or sit sulking in the corner. He wishes she could be with him, but it just isn’t possible. Time passes by, and the sun distances itself from the ocean; this moment is for Markus and the Mother alone.
The sky dims and darkens, leaving no light save for the faint glow from the party above. The ocean is calm now, and Markus begins to foolishly hope that he will be spared. He is shivering now, the robes doing little to protect him from eve the gentlest sea breeze. It is so quiet. Markus closes his eyes and imagines the world above him. His friends, family, acquaintances, all standing around holding candles. They know that it is going to happen soon, though they are forbade from stepping forward to watch. There is a faint rumble, and bubbles have started to appear on the surface. Markus’ eyes snap open and fall upon a vast blackness making its way to the surface, like an ink spill. There is no mistaking it, she is here.
Elsewhere, Yasmin has broken away from the crowd and is making her way to another cliff path. Her path is illuminated only by her faint candlelight, and all she can hear is her own footsteps and ragged breathing. The path comes into view and without stopping to pause or consider, she takes those first steps. In the days of old, this is how those of clarity would go to meet their fate. It has become unstable from its years of use and after three people failed to make it to the bottom alive, a new route was forged. Making her was down is nearly impossible and multiple times she falls trying to feel for steps that have eroded or fallen away. Bruises will decorate her skin in the morning, whether she makes it or not. The last few steps are the hardest, and she nearly plunges headfirst into the dark depths, but she steadies herself and manages to land on two feet. The only thing for her to do now is to make her way around a jutting cliff edge, where she hopes she will find her friend still intact.
The shape rises and breaks through the ocean’s surface. At first it seems to be nothing more than a giant shadow, formless and imposing, then the lights start to flicker. Thousands of bioluminescent blubs decorate what is still only the top of the Mother’s emerging head. Markus can barely breathe. Higher and higher, she ascends at a steady, slow pace until suddenly, she stops. The young man looks up and wonders how it is possible that the others can’t see this. Right in front of him, something stirs on the creature’s body. There is a movement, or at least a flicker of one. Markus doesn’t think he imagined it. Mesmerised by the Mother’s bright lights and sheer size, he reaches out. His arm stretches and he thinks, I can almost touch her. He takes another step forward. I’m so close now, if I could just- a slit he hadn’t yet noticed splits open.
The eye, oh god that eye, sizes him up, then seizes all movement completely. The pupil is so dark and still that it almost looks as if there is nothing there at all. A pit to nothingness. I have to keep going. His fingers are just inches away, less than that now. The lights flicker brighter and the wind has begun howling again. He reaches forward just a little more now. It is colder than anything he has ever felt before. The surface is wet and slimy, and not completely smooth. Yet at the same time, he also feels his hand pass through without resistance, a cool breeze gently brushing his skin, lifting the hairs. His whole body is cold now, and a voice quietly croons in his mind. Low and mumbling, she begins to say his name. ‘Markus. Markus. Markus.’ His body relaxes. The fluid from the cold surface begins to drip down his hand as the breeze begins to swirl faster and faster. ‘Markus,’ she whispers. ‘Markus,’ she sings. His eyes are closing and he is beginning to understand.
The edge of the cliff is rough and coarse, though Yasmin still finds it hard to hold on. The wind is dancing all around and the ocean spray is relentless, but it is the sight before her that threatens to pull her into oblivion. He seems to be in some sort of trance and she only hopes that it isn’t too late, that she can still pull him back. Hope will only get her so far. She steels herself against the chill and the horror and carefully steps along the uneven path. The wind still howls but this girl has ceased to shiver, her feet step confidently. It takes forever to reach him, yet she is also there in no time at all.
‘Markus,’ she says into his ear as she tries to shake him free. His body is frozen and rigid and his mind his unreachable. She keeps her eyes locked on his, desperately trying not to see the horror that stands before her, and says his name over and over. Without turning her head she begins to reach out slowly with her other arm. So carefully, she moves closer and closer to the eye.
Colours and lights flash# before his eyes as his own name dances around his thoughts. In his mind’s eye, he can see everything. The farthest star and the nearest mosquito. He can see the proud faces of his parents, and the terrified faces of his ancestors. A little flicker of bioluminescence moves across the ocean floor, a bird of paradise takes flight, as an old many says good morning a young one says good night as the sun is rising on a green hill and setting on a tan desert a pair of eyes open wide in horror and a hand goes limp and cold scales dart past a predator searching for the way to home to a stick striking a stick to warm up a young girl falling from a building trembling and glass breaking champagne spouting people cheering shouting terrified alone.
The Mother jerks back and Markus and Yasmin both fall back against the cliff edge. She sinks back into the ocean before breaching higher and faster than before. Eight monolithic tentacles arise up around him, reaching closer to the sea of stars above. No time to speak or comprehend, Markus follows Yasmin back around the jutting cliff edge. From behind him he can hear horrified screeches from the people above. They lose their feet a few times along the way and the sea slips between their feet and the treacherous path. They cannot let it take them. Yasmin practically pulls him up the path leading upwards and back to into the town. The streets are void of all life except the din of the others. A quick glance behind shows him the large appendixes silhouetted against the orange glow. His eyes have no time to linger, it is time to move on. Yasmin has begun to run, the stability of the ground being used to its full advantage. Markus’ lungs burn and his legs struggle with the robes as he tries to keep up. They run for longer than they think it is possible for them to do so, and then they go on for a little longer. The shouts and screams are more distant now, the urgency nearing its end.
They rest on a little patch of green off of a derelict roads. Their breath comes hard and heavy and the sweat on their brows have turned cold. ‘What did you do?’ Markus finally asks. He doesn’t feels that he’s said it wrong, that he should be shouting and cursing, but his lungs will not permit him to do so.
‘I did what I had to do. How long was it supposed to continue?’ She wants to explain further, but her restrictions are the same. They look at each other, once again saying nothing but wanting to say so much. The light is faint behind them now and the air is silent. Neither of them even thinks about speaking of what they saw in the eye of the Mother. His hand twitches as he thinks of placing it in hers, but he doesn’t move. She isn’t looking at him, isn’t looking back at the town either. Her eyes stare straight ahead at the pitch black unlit road. To what she presumes is the future. Be it doom or destiny, like the dawn it comes all at once.
